


A Pawn, A Princess, and A Dragon

by Fortheloveofjonsnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Direwolf Puppies (A Song of Ice and Fire), Direwolves (A Song of Ice and Fire), F/M, Ghost and Lady are not related, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon and Sansa are Cousins, Robert and Ned were not BFFs in this verse, Sansa was kidnapped by Wildlings as a Child, other tags to be added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29588373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortheloveofjonsnow/pseuds/Fortheloveofjonsnow
Summary: Kidnapped by Wildlings as a young child, Sansa Stark is returned to Winterfell to broker peace with the North. Little does she know that the Queen of the Seven kingdoms, also intends to use her return to her advantage through an arranged marriage with the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 57
Kudos: 166





	1. Prologue: Pawn

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little story, which will probably be short, that I am considering writing. Would love to hear thoughts and if there is any interest in this story. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting!

The old castle was drafty and stank of human filth and dogs and ale. Sansa looked out the window of her cell, or rather what she was told had once been her chamber… Glancing across the room, the woman who claimed to be her mother was laying out dresses and assessing them for size. Sansa was still in her furs and skins from when she had been taken, or rather surrendered, by her father Mance Rayder, and the Free Folk. This woman now claimed that she was her daughter, and that Mance had not been her father after all, that she had been kidnapped when she was very small from the halls of Winterfell. Sansa remembered none of this… all she remembered were the mountains and the snow and sleeping with her wolf in her furs under the stars. Much to the southerners’ consternation, the Lady Catelyn, her supposed mother, allowed her to keep her direwolf at least, her Lady. Sansa had named her wolf Lady as something of a joke, as the dog had been such a proper little thing as a pup, unlike the other dogs in their tribe, and so she named her Lady in honor of all the funny songs and stories she had heard from those who had traveled south of the wall.

“These should fit you,” said Lady Catelyn with a kind smile, that Sansa did not return.

Sansa nodded curtly, her heart still sore that her father… Mance… had given her up so easily to their enemies. Lady Catelyn had not been unkind to her, but she was from south of the Wall, and Sansa knew that people south of the Wall could not be trusted. Mance, though, was not her father… he had said as much when he surrendered her… so she supposed people north of the Wall could not be trusted either.

Catelyn came to Sansa’s side, and reached out to touch her but Sansa flinched away and continued to stare out the window.

Catelyn looked sad, “I know this is difficult for you to understand… you were so very small when you were taken…”

Sansa said nothing. She spoke the Common Tongue, of course, but she chose instead to speak the language of the Thenns, the Old Tongue, to show these southerners that she was of the True North. Glancing at Catelyn again, Sansa tried to remain hard. Mance had never spoken of her mother. He had married Dalla when Sansa had already been a young woman, but her own mother she had never known, and now this woman, and Mance himself, were saying that all she had known all her life was a lie… that she was a southerner, daughter to the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

“Can I help you change for supper?” Catelyn asked sadly.

Sansa shook her head.

“You have to eat something, child, you’ll waste away, you’re so thin as it is…” Catelyn tried but Sansa only grunted and turned away from her.

Sansa had been here for several days, and more than once she had contemplated running, but Mance had told her that this was for the good of the Free Folk, that her return to Winterfell, would broker peace for them. Mance would not have her back, and so she did not run. She could survive in the wilds on her own, but how long before these southerners sent search parties for her, and forced her to return in chains? Perhaps, she could scale the Wall herself… she knew that was a foolish notion, she had never scaled the Wall, she had never been a part of such a raiding party… Mance had never allowed her too, and now she knew why. He had been afraid that she would be taken be the southerners, or that perhaps she would remember her true origins and return of her own accord. She had never been free… she had always been a prisoner. Sansa felt tears sting the back of her eyes… she had always been too soft, too tender, and now she knew why… she was a southerner, she was not of the Free Folk at all. Restraining her tears, Sansa stiffened her spine.

“May I help you brush your hair?” Catelyn asked plaintively.

Sansa shook her head.

“Shall I have supper sent up to you?”

Sansa shook her head.

“Very well,” Catelyn sighed sadly and left the room.

Lady lay on the floor looking up at Sansa, and Sansa laid down beside the huge wolf and hugged her close.

* * *

Lady Catelyn assured her that she was not a prisoner and that she was free to go about the castle as she liked. Sansa, however, had no idea how to spend her days. She was no idle southern woman, who embroidered and gossiped and sat in towers and waited for princes to pay court to them… whatever that meant, but she had heard such sentiments in the stories brought north of the Wall. Holding her head high, she walked with more confidence than she felt around the castle, even as she received strange stares from passersby. She was safe as long as Lady was with her, and so she walked and walked and walked. She had never seen a structure quite so large before and yet she supposedly had lived here as a small child. There were no memories to help guide her, but if Catelyn spoke true, her time was her own and so she could explore. Opening a large door, Sansa found herself in a room full of shelves piled with papers, and books. She had only ever heard of books before but had never seen one… not that she could remember anyway. She wondered what these objects possessed that someone could need so many? Walking along the rows she ran her fingers along the spines. Having never learned to read, the words printed there were little better than unintelligible scrollwork. The Free Folk lived hard lives, focused on surviving, and reading was a luxury that could not be afforded.

“You loved songs and stories when you were a little girl,” said the voice of an old man.

Sansa turned around to see an elderly man carrying a few books in his arms, with a great chain around his neck, entering the room.

“I know you don’t remember,” He said with a kind smile, “I’m Maester Luwin.”

Sansa nodded.

He chuckled good naturedly and began to replace the books on the shelves, “Your mother and father never gave up hope of finding you, searched for years and years…”

Sansa only studied him.

“Even after your father died, your mother continued the search, though it certainly slowed during the wars with the south,” said the old man.

She patted Lady’s head and pretended not to be interested in the old man’s words.

“The Direwolf is the sigil of your family’s house, curious that you have one that has taken to you,” said the Maester, “I’ve only ever seen one other.”

Another direwolf? South of the Wall? Impossible. Lady was the only Direwolf Sansa had seen in her entire life, and she spent her life north of the Wall.

“Wolves that large are not to be mistaken,” Maester Luwin said as if he could read her thoughts. He continued down the rows of books and then returned with a small one in his hand. He offered it to her, and Sansa eyed it curiously, “Used to be one of your favorites…”

Sansa shook her head. She did not read.

“It has plenty of drawings,” He said, once again as if he knew her mind, and he offered the book to her again.

Sansa took it and turned it over in her hands, the scrollwork on the front was intricate and lovely. She traced her fingers over the lines, thoughtfully.

“Take it with you,” Luwin said.

Sansa tucked it into her fur cloak.

Luwin chuckled again, “I know your mother would be pleased if you changed into an appropriate garment… I imagine you are drawing quite a lot of attention to yourself, looking like a Wilding as you do.”

 _Wildling_ … that’s what the southerners called them… Sansa would wear the name like a badge of honor. Turning from him, Sansa left the room full of books and made her way down the castle corridors once more.

She turned a corner to overhear a few guards speaking.

“She’s a proper wildling,” guffawed one of the guardsmen.

“How do they even know that she is Lady Sansa? The Wildlings could have brought anyone!” said the other guardsmen.

“Something about birthmarks, and her fair strikingly resemblance to Lady Stark,” said the other.

“I saw her when they brought her, she don’t look like Lady Stark enough to me, she has wild eyes and snarled hair, and she ain’t no lady that’s for sure,” said the other.

“It ain’t for us to say, who she be, tis for the noble lords to decide.”

They chuckled and off they went about their business, leaving Sansa to wonder at their words. Maybe she was not this Sansa Stark? Perhaps if she could convince these noble lords that she was not then maybe they would let her go home? But Mance had told her that she was, and so Mance would not take her back… she would have to make her own way. She just needed to bide her time, make a plan… escape.

* * *

When the castle was quiet, late that night Sansa and Lady crept down the stairs in search of food. She had not eaten since she had been abandoned here, and her stomach was rolling and growling, as was Lady’s. Managing to avoid the guards in the stairwell, Sansa found what appeared to be a great hall with tables. She had never seen anything like it before, the castle was new and different, and everything was larger than she could have ever imagined. While the castle was certainly grand, she lamented that she could not see the stars. For now, it mattered not, she needed to eat, as did her wolf. Absconding with a knife, Sansa knew that she could at least catch and kill a rabbit but getting out of the castle in the middle of the night would be a feat. Stalking down a hallway in search of an exit, Sansa heard voices, and footsteps and so she ducked into an alcove, peeking around the corner to see what the commotion was so late at night. There were a few soldiers in armor she did not recognize, these were not the soldiers of Winterfell that she had seen around the castle. Drawing a little closer, Sansa could make out the sound of Catelyn’s voice.

“I have lost my husband, and all my other children to these endless southern wars!” She said, fiercely.

“She has been betrothed to the Prince since she was born, surely you knew that the arrangement made with your husband all those years ago, would not nullify that agreement simply because she went missing,” said another voice that Sansa did not recognize.

“She’s only been here a few days! She’s so confused, she needs time to adjust and recover!” Catelyn argued.

“Which she will have once she is wed to the Prince!” said the other voice, “Your daughter is well past being of age to marry.”

“She’s barely eighteen!”

“Most women marry at their first blood.”

“She doesn’t understand our customs, our ways…”

“For all the crown knows, Lady Stark, you and Lord Stark arranged her disappearance to avoid this marriage in the first place,” said the other, “The Queen will not tolerate a delay.”

Sansa frowned… they were speaking of her… they were speaking of giving her to some Prince? Was she to be taken from here to? Who were the Starks that she would be so important as to wed a Prince? What fate had Mance abandoned her too?

“It’s not so bad a thing, surely,” said the other voice with a chuckle, “She will bear the next heir to the seven kingdoms, as well as an heir for Winterfell, and of course, you will be allowed to remain steward of Winterfell and the North until said heir is of age.”

“She’s my only child remaining to me, and you mean to strip her from me again!” Catelyn argued.

“The wedding will happen, when the Prince arrives,” said the man, “Otherwise, the Queen will strip Winterfell from you too.”


	2. A Hostage of a Different Kind (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your lovely comments! Here is the next little bit, meeting Jon and getting a little political backdrop, I hope everyone enjoys! If anyone has questions about the political backstory, I will try to answer as I can without giving to much away, with a shorter story its hard to go into all the details of how this AU differs from canon. 
> 
> *** Also side note, just in case anyone is worried, in this AU Jon and Dany are strictly aunt and nephew, there is nothing incestuous going on between them, and there never was***

A grey and white wolf haunted Jon Targaryen’s dreams all the way from King’s Landing… Targaryen… it was a name that had long ago become uncomfortable, it still seemed foreign on his tongue, though it was his name until he was six years old. Snow… the bastard name of his youth was much easier to use, it was familiar, and had kept him safe for years. He had taken back the name Targaryen at the behest of his Aunt Daenerys, in order to protect the North. King’s Landing was a distant memory from his childhood, he barely remembered his real father Rhaegar Targaryen… the North was his true home, no matter what Aunt Dany wanted to call him.

Sighing, Jon turned over on his pallet and could see Dany out with her two Dragons Viserion and Drogon, talking to them as if they were people. His dragon, Rhaegal, slept alone. Daenerys Targaryen had restored the Targaryen dynasty, as a young woman, barely sixteen. When she had arrived in Westeros, she had been even younger, and she had slaughtered the Baratheon and Lannister usurpers, who had taken Ned Stark’s head two years before her conquest. What a two year span of time that had been, between the death of Ned Stark and the conquest of Queen Daenerys… the deaths of Robb, and Bran and Rickon and Arya in between… Jon hugged himself, Westeros needed peace and in her way, Dany had brought it. It would be ignorant, however, to believe that she was a kind and benevolent ruler. She was not to be trifled with, and after she had conquered the southern kingdoms with fire and blood, and the last two Targaryen's had been restored to each other, Jon knew he had to do whatever it took to keep the North safe.

“Are you still awake, Jon?” Dany called to him when she turned around to see him watching her.

“Aye,” He grumbled.

“You should get some rest you go to meet your bride.”

Jon did not rest well, not here and not in King’s Landing. He was itching to be home at Winterfell. It was not lost on Dany nor Jon, that Jon had a more immediate claim to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, but Dany had conquered Westeros herself without Jon’s assistance and so she had taken the throne for herself and named him Crown Prince, as she could not have children. Jon knew, though, that she would always see him as a threat, no matter what protestations of care and family she might speak.

“Are you eager to meet her again?” Dany came and sat down on the ground beside him.

“She was barely four years old when last I saw her, Dany, I hardly recall her,” Jon reminded.

“Still, it was a wise marriage pact my brother made,” Dany said, always eager to remind her subordinates of the wisdom of Targaryen rulers of old.

Jon had been engaged to Sansa since she was born, but when the Baratheon’s overthrew the Targaryen’s and Sansa was kidnapped by the Wildlings, it seemed it was not meant to be. Jon had been very small during the Baratheon rebellion and had been forced into hiding, and had posed as Ned Stark’s bastard son, until Robert Baratheon discovered Ned’s secret. When Robert died, likely poisoned by his vicious wife Cersei, Ned was beheaded, and then Robb had declared war on the south, with Jon beside him.

“Aye,” Jon agreed simply.

When Dany had discovered the marriage pact between her brother and Ned Stark, to join their houses through Jon and Sansa, she had tenaciously latched onto the idea. Jon after all was still well loved in the north, and she was not. Jon thought it rather unlucky for Sansa that she had been found at all, as she would be dragged into the Targaryen family to be another pawn in their game of thrones.

“I’m going to sleep, Dany,” Jon informed her and rolled over, hoping she might leave him be.

She was not evil in the same way as the Baratheon’s and the Lannister’s, nor as mad as her father, but she was not to be trusted, and the North and Winterfell would never be truly safe as long as she was queen, and so Jon played her game. They were not far from Winterfell now. Jon had not been home in years, not since Dany had threatened to burn it to the ground if Jon did not join her… he had been King in the North then, and he had knelt, just like Torren Stark all those years ago… except he was not a Stark, not truly. He had not known then that Catelyn had been alive or that there was any hope of finding Sansa. He had given away what was not his to give, but he had saved them, making himself more or less a hostage to the crown.

* * *

The grey and white wolf in Jon’s dreams howled, startling him awake. He looked around and saw the camp was quiet, and the only ones awake were the night’s guardsmen. Stopping had been Dany’s idea, stating that it was good for the people to see their queen. They were so near Winterfell, that Jon could only grumble that it was foolish to stop but no one would listen. Ghost had been away since they entered the North, and Jon supposed it was Ghost who had discovered this grey and white wolf that haunted him. Jon rose and pulled on his cloak, the night air was crisp, and if he got on Rhaegal, he could be at Winterfell before morning. He approached the large sleeping dragon. Ghost and Rhaegal had an ambivalent relationship, which Jon supposed reflected his own conflicted feelings regarding his own Stark and Targaryen identity. Jon had feared at first that Rhaegal might try to eat Ghost, but the two creatures had seemed to come to some sort of understanding that was somehow reliant on Jon. Direwolves and Dragons were said to be magical creatures… Jon was not sure if that were true, but they were certainly different from ordinary beasts. Jon was not sure by what magic he could see through Ghost’s eyes, but he could, though he would never confess to such a thing for fear that they would think he had gone mad, like his grandfather.

“Thinking of abandoning the cause?” asked the amused voice of Tyrion Lannister, startling Jon out of his thoughts.

Jon turned to see Tyrion standing a bit away urinating on a tree.

“Thinking of flying ahead,” said Jon, as he patted Rhaegal who looked rather disdainful about being patted like a horse.

Tyrion pulled up his pants and turned to Jon, “You know she watches every move you make.”

“Aye, if she asks, just tell her I’m eager to see my bride,” Jon jested, though he felt no mirth. Sansa had been so small when she was taken, Jon had no idea what kind of bride he was going to be taking.

Tyrion laughed, “I don’t think she’d believe that for a moment, not with Catelyn Stark waiting there for you too.”

Catelyn had never quite forgiven Jon for kneeling, and Jon had never been able to make Catelyn see that Daenerys would have burned the whole North, just like she did to the Crown lands and the Lannister’s. Jon, himself, was still not sure if he had made the right decision to kneel… but she had spared the North, and the North was more prosperous now that it had been under the Baratheon’s, and so it seemed that if Jon played the game, they might be safe a little while longer.

* * *

Arriving at Wintertown just before dawn, Jon landed Rhaegal just outside the town, so as not to frighten anyone, and would make his way to Winterfell on foot. For what it was worth, he told the dragon to stay and trekked off toward the castle that he could see in the distance, he was still curious where Ghost had gotten off to, but he supposed the old wolf would show himself soon. The sound of humming up ahead caused him to pause. Westeros overall was a safer place since Daenerys had put an end to all the wars, but that did not mean there were not still brigands and bandits occasionally lurking in the woods. Quietly, he pressed forward, and stumbled upon a clearing, and there in the center, in front of a fire, sat a wildling girl, skinning a rabbit… She had wild red hair and striking blue eyes… she was lovely if not a little bit feral. When she caught sight of him, she leapt to her feet, grabbing the knife she had been using to skin and holding it up.

“Easy, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m just passing through on my way to the castle,” he said as he studied the girl… she looked surprisingly like Aunt Catelyn… and then somehow, he just knew… Sansa… “Sansa?”

She frowned at him and took a step away.

“It’s Jon…” He indicated himself, “Uh… Jon Snow…” that would have been the last name she knew him by, if she remembered him at all. Would Aunt Catelyn have told her she was going to marry a Targaryen prince? What was she doing out here all alone?

She continued to study him, fearfully but curiously.

Jon offered a smile, which she did not return. She spat out a few words in the Old Tongue, and he chuckled.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Do you speak the Common Tongue anymore?”

She rolled her eyes and grunted.

Jon could not help but chuckle again, it seemed that the Wildlings nor the northerners had not broken her spirit, “Well, at least I know you understand the Common Tongue.”

She stared blankly at him.

“We…” He searched for the right words, “We knew each other as children, though we were both barely more than babes ourselves… I don’t expect that you would remember…”

She looked him over once more, then seemed to decide he was no threat, and sat back to her fire and her rabbit, looking determined to ignore him. He took a step toward her, and she glared at him… an icy warning. 

Running a hand through his hair, Jon sighed and plopped down in the leaves several paces from her and watched as she finished her rabbit.

“It seems we have reached an impasse,” He said.

She glanced at him and stoked her fire.

“I need to get to the castle, but I’d rather you not stab me if I pass.”

She rolled her eyes, which made him smile.

Rustling in the nearby bushes, drew Jon’s attention and he looked up to see Ghost emerge from the bushes, and beside him was the grey and white wolf Jon had seen in his dreams. When Ghost came to Jon, Sansa gave him a hard look, but no less surprised than he, when the female wolf plopped down beside Sansa and put her head on her leg like a lap dog.

Jon scratched Ghost behind the ears, “I see what you have been up to, old fella,” he chuckled as he glanced over at the beautiful female wolf.

Sansa made no reaction.

“I think my wolf has taken a liking to yours,” Jon said with an easy smile.

She huffed and continued on with her cooking.

“You are Sansa Stark aren’t you?” Jon asked, hoping to coax a non-hostile reaction from her.

She shrugged.

He wondered why they had let her out of the castle walls alone, and he grinned to think that perhaps they did not know she was out here alone. She was a wildling indeed. Dany was expecting a woman like Catelyn Stark to birth another generation of Targaryens, not this wild beauty who sat here skinning a rabbit, looking rather put out that Jon had stumbled upon her. 

Both the wolves got up, and began to scamper around each other, obviously enjoying the other’s company. Jon had never seen another direwolf before, perhaps the two were made for each other? He hoped Sansa would not be too perturbed with Ghost, if Ghost were to give her wolf some pups, if so, they might have to separate the two beasts if the way they were acting was any indication.

“I grew up in this castle, with your brothers and sister, though I’m afraid they passed on before their time,” Jon said sadly, remembering with gut wrenching clarity and pain how he had not made it in time to save Rickon and Bran when the Ironborn sacked Winterfell during the war with the south. He had taken Winterfell back, but the price had been grave. So many had died, in so many wars…

Sansa looked at him again, but in her eyes, he saw compassion rather than disdain and it gave him hope.

“Rickon was not even born yet when you were taken, Arya was just a wee thing, only two, and Bran just born,” Jon explained, not sure if she cared or not, or if she remembered any of them at all, “It’s alright that you don’t remember, I don’t expect that you would…”

Her eyes turned soft for a moment.

“I can’t imagine how you must feel right now…” Jon offered. She had been stripped of everything she knew, from what he understood the Wildlings had treated her as one of their own, adopted her as such, and so in a sense she had lost her family… her identity… She must be so lost and confused… and to be thrust into a strange world full of strangers… gods, he wondered if she knew about him…

Before he could say anything else, a horn blowing in the distance from Winterfell drew their attention. He saw Sansa’s face fall.

He looked at her, “For you?”

She shrugged sadly.

He had wondered what she was doing out here alone and surmised that those at the castle may not have known she was out. The sad realization that she was not trying to escape but merely trying to find something familiar made his heart ache for her. He understood that, to a lesser degree perhaps, but he understood.

“Come,” Jon stood and offered her his hand, “Better to come back on your own than for them to find you, yes?”

She stared at him for a moment, then stood without taking his hand, whistled for her wolf, and left Jon to trail after her toward the castle. If Jon was struck by one thing regarding this encounter, it was that Sansa needed more time… but what kind of time could he buy her from the queen and what would it cost?


	3. Woman of Duty (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading and for your kind comments!
> 
> If you also read SofW, I will be working on another update on it, its just taking me some time, as I want to do a good job in its final act. Thanks for sticking with me!

Sansa and the man with the pretty hair and fine eyes, strode back toward the castle. Jon Snow seemed unthreatening but she remembered to keep her guard up. She had her knife at her side if he tried anything. The marriage customs of the south were unknown to her, but it was the custom among the free folk for a man to steal a bride. Mance had gutted the one man who had tried to steal her and now Sansa knew why…. She was not of the free folk. Mance had only ever been her captor not her father or anyone else. She had been leverage for him, and he had used her as such when he gave her back to Winterfell. Sansa wanted to hate him, but how could she hate him when she had loved him as a father not so very long ago?

“I think Ghost is rather keen to keep your wolf,” Jon Snow chuckled almost abashedly.

Sansa whipped her head over to see the two wolves engaging in definitive courtship behavior. Lady had never had pups, having never been around another Direwolf, and the average wolf was too timid to approach her. The big she-wolf was due for heat soon, though, and so Sansa supposed nature would take its course if Jon Snow’s wolf was still running amuck. Lady did not seem disagreeable, which made Sansa shake her head. Even in the kingdom of the animals it seemed the males were intent on causing trouble. Sansa only hoped Jon Snow was gone before she had an impending litter of Direwolf pups on her hands.

They approached the castle gates in time to find that Ser Roderick was readying the guard. For as much as they claimed she was not a prisoner, Sansa was not free. She noted that Jon Snow was studying her, and she was irritated.

“My Lady…” Ser Roderick began, likely to scold her, but then the words died on his tongue when he caught sight of the man behind her, “My Prince!”

 _Prince?_ Sansa glared at Jon Snow.

Jon laughed and embraced Roderick, “You taught me to swing a sword, Ser Roderick, you cannot call me Prince.”

“I don’t know how her majesty will feel about me calling you Jon,” Roderick chuckled.

“My given name is the last thing that is my own, and so her majesty can learn to live with it.”

Sansa continued to stare at him. Was this the Prince she had overheard them talking about? The one they intended to give her to? Catelyn still had not broached the subject with her and so Sansa had been left to wonder. 

Catching sight of Catelyn coming across the courtyard, Sansa felt her heart wilting. The older woman’s face fell when she caught sight of the Prince. Sansa wondered at it.

“Jon,” Catelyn said coldly, before masking her emotions and curtsying, “Your majesty.”

Jon took Catelyn’s hand, looking dreadfully uncomfortable, “Please Aunt, there is no need for such formalities between us, the queen isn’t here yet.”

Catelyn nodded, though, her mouth was set in a grim line, “I see you have reacquainted with Sansa?”

Jon smiled at Sansa and she deliberately frowned at him, which only seemed to amuse him.

“Somewhat,” said Jon.”

“Mance Rayder assured me that she was taught the Common Tongue, but we’ve not heard word from her,” Catelyn said sadly and Sansa was annoyed that she was being spoken about as if she could not understand.

Jon gave Sansa a gentle smile, “Well, with as many hardships as she has endured, I don’t imagine I would want to speak to anyone either.”

“At least she’s home,” Catelyn said and tried to touch Sansa, but Sansa pulled away from her. She did not want to be touched and comforted by these strangers, she did not belong here… in truth, she did not belong anywhere.

“Where is the queen?” asked Catelyn.

“A few days behind,” Jon replied as they began to walk toward the keep, with Sansa a few steps behind them, “I flew ahead… I was… I was, um, eager to be home.”

Catelyn nodded, but looked rather grim. Jon glanced back at Sansa and she turned her nose up at him. Catelyn looked both uncomfortable and irritable. Sansa thought perhaps there was bad blood between them since this Prince was here to take her away… but was that the only reason?

* * *

The two wolves had been so incorrigible all evening that Sansa decided to keep Lady with her that night, often she would let her out to hunt if she wanted but it seemed the big white wolf had other things in mind for Lady. Sansa had actively avoided Jon Snow, and had not gone down to supper despite the squirrelly maid’s insistence on helping her dress for supper. Sitting on the massive bed, Sansa bounced a bit on the softness. Not accustomed to sleeping on something so soft, she had taken to sleeping on the floor. She sat on the bed now, though, not sure that she could say that she hated it. A knock came to the door, Sansa said nothing but the door opened anyway. Catelyn strode in and Lady, in her sweetness, approached Catelyn for pets. Sansa frowned at the wolf, so willing to accept affection from these stranger people… and from strange wolves.

“May I brush your hair for you?” Catelyn asked.

Sansa recoiled and Catelyn nodded, sitting down at the foot of the bed.

Catelyn released a deep sigh, “I suppose you may be wandering what a Prince is doing here?”

Sansa shook her head, acting uninterested.

“Jon is your cousin,” Catelyn began, and then took a deep breath, “And the queen has demanded that we uphold the marriage pact made with Jon’s father when you were born,” Catelyn reached for her hand, but Sansa snatched it away, “It’s not my choice for you… but its our duty, and I suppose, we are both women of duty.”

Sansa looked at the blanket.

“I wish I could know what you are thinking,” said Catelyn.

Sansa felt her wretched emotions threatening her, why could she not be strong like other Wildling women?... Because she was not a wildling, Sansa reminded herself, she was not of the north at all.

Catelyn looked near tears, “I’ve only just found you and I will lose you again.”

Sansa still did not respond.

“Though much ill will has passed between Jon and I across the years, I do know that Jon will be good to you,” Catelyn said, “For all his kneeling to foreign queens, he is still a good and kind man…. Like your father, Ned Stark… I don’t suppose you remember your true father… you were so very small…”

Sansa did not acknowledge her. She just wanted to leave… but they would hunt her down, perhaps even hunt down the Free Folk and slaughter them. Being here, protected the Wildlings…

Catelyn released another deep sigh, as she stood, “It’s the only way to protect the North from her…. The queen has two dragons…”

Dragons? Sansa did not know that such beasts existed… and so she would be a pawn to protect Winterfell now too… Sansa found the world to be cruelly unfair.

* * *

The next morning, Sansa absconded with breakfast from the kitchen and hid in the barns among the hay bales with Lady, whom she was keeping a close eye on with the male wolf still roaming about freely.

“He’s not worth the fuss, you know?” Sansa told Lady in the Old Tongue, “You’ll end up with a belly full of pups, and no peace.”

Lady rolled over for her belly to be scratched.

Sansa reluctantly scratched her, “One would think you were a hound and not wolf with this sort of behavior.”

When Lady sat up quickly and licked her, Sansa laughed.

“Quiet place up here,” a voice interrupted her, and Sansa startled, cursing in the Old Tongue. She turned to see Jon Snow climbing up into the hay, with the white wolf at his heels. He had followed her. Was she to have no peace either? Sansa rolled her eyes and turned her shoulder to him, and continued to stroke Lady’s soft fur, but when Lady caught sight of Ghost, she bolted for him. Sansa frowned but Jon laughed. Sansa glared at the Prince.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jon Snow apologized.

Sansa said nothing.

“Aunt Catelyn informed me that she told you last night… about me, about us… about what my aunt, the queen, expects of us,” Jon said softly as he studied her face, though she kept averting her eyes from his.

Sansa did not care much about what he had to say about it, they had to do what they had to do did they not? To protect Winterfell, and to protect the true north from dragon fire? Sansa, for all her bitterness and hurt, still loved her people, and would not see them burned. Though she did not know the people of Winterfell… she would not see them burned either.

“The wedding will be on my aunt’s arrival no doubt,” Jon said, “I cannot force you, Sansa…”

What was he saying? Of course he could, they had no choice in the matter… in fact, it sounded like he had little choice in the matter himself… perhaps he was a hostage too?

“I was six years old when you were born, ten when you were taken,” Jon explained, “It was devastating for us all… but then the North lost so much after, your father, your brothers and sister, their freedom under the Baratheons, and then again under Daenerys… most of it at my fault.”

Sansa glanced at him. How could it be his fault?

“The Baratheon’s, they killed your father for keeping me a secret,” Jon explained, “Robb went to war to avenge his father, leaving Bran and Rickon behind to die at the hands of the Ironborn… I felt unworthy when they named me King in the North, and unworthier still when I surrendered the North to Daenerys…”

To save them from dragon fire… Sansa thought, and hated the wretched compassion that she would always feel.

“I was not given much choice in this marriage, and neither were you…” He said with a sigh, “And I’m not sure that I have the power to give you freedom from it….”

Sansa thought of the children of the Free Folk, playing in the snow along the riverbanks, she thought of her friends hunting together in the woods, and as much as she hated him, she thought of Mance and of Dalla, who had been with child when she was surrendered. Would they all die of dragon fire if she ran away?

“Will you ever feel safe enough to speak with me?” Jon asked, reaching out and touching her hand.

Sansa snatched her hand back as if she had been burned and shook her head aggressively.

Jon nodded, “Until the queen arrives then?”

Standing with a sigh, Jon started to leave.

When she thought he was out of ear shot, she grew spiteful and in the Common Tongue, she whispered in a growl, “Before you have me, you will have to steal me first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love to hear thoughts!


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